Jaunt
by gryffindormischief
Summary: Ginny gets an introduction to muggle night life courtesy of one Harry Potter.


A/N: Thank you for all the wonderfully kind reviews (and the likes/follows/etc.), they make me smile every time I get a notification. So glad everyone is enjoying Flux! This is just a little one-shot based on two tumblr prompts...

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Ginny cracked an eye open, pushing her upper body away from the mattress, blinking at her clock blearily, _three fifty-two…gross_. It was that time of night where going back to sleep would be pointless in comparison to her Molly Weasley enforced Sunday wake-up time – _no matter that it's my only day off this week…maybe I can get a few more minutes…_

Just as she was finished rearranging her sleep accoutrements – fluff and turn pillow, one leg out of the duvet – a quiet but definitive clattering sound reached her ears. Cracking open one eye, she surmised that the sound was not a result of the space in front of her, _and its too close to be coming from downstairs…_

Slowly, she turned, twisting herself in the duvet and sheets most uncomfortably in the process, eyes darting around the room, and lastly to the window. At first, it appeared as if nothing was there, but a careful examination, which was a miracle given the hour and Ginny's growing frustration, revealed a pale, thin hand scattered with a few freckles and silvery blemishes, _Harry_.

Smirking inwardly she snuggled further into her cocoon, making sure to shift in such a way that she had a full on view of the window and the wizard currently contemplating whisking her off into the night no doubt.

Ginny fought back giggles as she heard a series of thumps and quite a bit of swearing, followed by the squeak of wood scraping wood and a triumphant whisper, " _Finally_. Thought smashing my finger would stop me but I'm made of-"

Unable to stop herself, Ginny pushed up onto her elbow, hair cascading down her shoulders in crimson waves, gold veins running through it, sparkling in the glow of the midsummer moon, "Alright, Potter?"

Harry looked up and lost his grip on the windowsill, broom rapidly losing altitude until his green eyes wide like the silvery orb behind him were just visible behind thin glasses, beneath haphazard hair. Inching back up slowly, he slipped one denim-clad leg over the sill, slightly shaky, then the other, pulling his broom in behind him. Just as his trainers came into contact with the scrubbed clean floors, "I er- came to see you?"

"I would _hope_ so. Otherwise you're carrying on an affair with Ron right under my nose," Ginny snickered, now fully sitting up. Harry's eye dropped to her shoulder, his cheeks flushing as they shot back to her face. Frowning in confusion, Ginny tilted her head slightly, only to find the strap of her vest had slipped down ever so slightly, "Doesn't take much, eh Potter?"

Now fully inside, Harry stood awkwardly in the center of her braided rag rug, carefully crafted during the winter of her fifth Christmas when frigid temperatures froze her toes and meant she wasn't allowed outside more than a few minutes each afternoon. Molly was nearly driven batty and eventually set her to making a rag rug, which first required learning to braid. If one looked closely enough, you could see the places where her small, still childish fingers fumbled the pattern, leaving bumps in the multicolored surface. Ginny had pouted in frustration the first time, until Molly assured her that the mistakes gave it 'character' and made it one of a kind. _Still not sure if she was imparting wisdom or trying to avert another disaster…that was the winter Fred and George discovered matches._ Ginny rubbed at the eyebrow she'd never taken for granted again, lost in thought, until a subtle clearing of the throat brought her back to reality.

Looking up, she took in Harry's self-conscious stance, fists clenched, held slightly away from his body as if he was suddenly, after nineteen years of life, unsure what to do with them. Biting back a smile, she gestured toward the foot of the bed, "Want to sit?"

Harry gave a short, jerky nod and sat down, eyes trained on the tips of his shoes, "I- this is stupid, I shouldn't- I just-"

Ginny placed a comforting hand on his knee, her pointer finger working its way through the hole in his denims, stroking through the soft hairs lazily she murmured, "What? You can tell me."

"No. It's silly and _embarrassing_ I just don't-"

Working her way from beneath the swaths of fabric, huffing at the entrapping blankets, Ginny scooted closer, "C'mon. No one needs to know what you say…aside from me that is."

Lips pursed as if the words would simply jump out without his permission, Harry remained silent. Ginny kneaded the knots at the back of his neck with practiced fingers, "Think of who you're talking to love, could it be worse than rhyming ' _mine'_ with ' _divine_ '? 'sides, if you really didn't want to say, we both know you'dve left already."

Harry shook his head, getting agitated, "No you don't understand." He paused, half talking to himself, though his voice was still loud enough for Ginny to shoot a glance toward her parent's room, willing the walls to camouflage the noise. Looking back toward Harry, she caught the end of his self-deprecating tirade, "Who crawls through someone's window at four in the morning to go for some _ice cream_?!"

His dark head dropped to his hands, elbows propped on knees, his back rising and falling with his rapid breaths. Closing the remaining distance Ginny pressed herself into his side, one leg dangling off the bed, the other tucked beneath her bum, her freckled fingers carding through his dark mess of hair. After his breathing slowed, Ginny spoke, ever so quietly and soothingly, "I'm guessing you do? Come at four in the morning to go for ice-cream that is."

He sighed, peaking through his fingers with one eye, "Yeah, I just got a little lonely."

Failing to hold back a laugh, she pressed a kiss to his temple, "I wasn't aware you'd become accustomed to entertaining guests at the witching hour."

Harry pointed a finger between her eyes, a playful scowl crinkling his features, "Oi! _Not_ nice Ginevra. Plus the witching hour is three, not four."

"Details, details," the red head dismissed with a casual wave of her hand, nearly swatting his spectacles from their perch.

He snatched her hands from the air, pulling both to rest on his lap, "Speaking of details, there's a Tesco not far from my flat so-"

Ginny frowned thoughtfully, "What's a tesk-o? I thought that was where muggles went dancing."

With a light chuckle, Harry kissed the tip of her nose, "No m'dear, that's a discotheque, or a disco. Mostly for dancing and drinking, I believe…"

"Sounds like fun. We should go to one."

Harry grimaced, "Erm, I guess…I don't know if there are any around anymore-"

"You'll not get out of this one Potter," Ginny asserted, pinching his arm for effect, "I want to get my _groove_ on." Offering a preview, Ginny began gyrating on the bed, springs creaking beneath her as she attempted to demonstrate her prowess at muggle dancing. Harry was momentarily distracted by said gyrating and that treacherous, or wonderfully considerate depending on his state of mind, strap that seemed bound and determined to slip from Ginny's tanned shoulder.

Suddenly, Ginny's dancing stopped and her hands rose to her hips, a smirk on her face, "My eyes are up here."

"I was- uh, watching you dance?" Harry raised his brows hopefully.

Ginny's eyes ran up and down his form, pretending to debate whether she was _actually_ put off. When she decided he'd suffered long enough, her lips spread in a sly grin, "Well it _was_ excellent."

Harry spent a moment taking in her glittering eyes, laughter flushed cheeks, and still slightly minty breath, before he remembered there was a purpose for his nighttime excursion, beyond ogling his cheeky girlfriend. Ginny seemed to follow a similar track, as she schooled her features into a semi serious expression, "So. Your plan."

"Ah, yes. Would you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, like to accompany me to Tesco where we will purchase ice-cream at," he paused to read the old-fashioned alarm clock, "four-oh-nine in the morning?"

"One condition," Ginny responded, a sense of gravity coloring her features.

He quirked an ebony brow, inviting her to elaborate.

"I drive."


End file.
